Dexter's Dahmerland
by Velence
Summary: And there he is too – Chris Keller. He's the one. King prawn in both hands. Safe under a thatched roof he checks with his environment his piercing blue eyes without knowing that I'm watching him.


Unbetaed, englisch version.

Dahmerland

Tonight's the night. And it's going to happen, again and again. Has to happen.

Miami has nice hotels, beautiful women, a glamorous night life und delicious food. I love the sea, the music, the lights and the Cuban food. Pork sandwich, my favorite for short and long car rides. But tonight I'm hungry for something different. It pulls me away from the few glamorous spots to dark and dirty corners. There I'm at home. There my table is laid.

And there he is too – Chris Keller.

He's the one.

King prawn in both hands. Safe under a thatched roof he checks with his environment his piercing blue eyes without knowing that I'm watching him.

On the back of his grey-blue muscle shirts sweat stains have formed. His face shines from humidity. Any reasonably normal person spends the day in air-conditioned rooms. The heat doesn't seem to bother him; he enjoys the warm temperatures, the little of clothes his fellow human beings wear, the mentality of Florida.

No wonder after Oz, the Oswald State Correctional Facility he escaped.

With his male features and his muscular stature he draws attention, which he certainly is aware. He is hardly interested in women, but if a handsome man makes eye contact with him, he flirts shamelessly back.

Also in Miami, he can't leave his old habits.

Stupid only that the one night stand for his admirers turn out fatal.

Well, just like mine.

His file is full: Felony murder, two counts of attempted murder, assault with a deadly weapon, robbery, driving under the influence, reckless driving. 88 years, up for parole in 50. Already as a young man several criminal convictions and some time at Lardner. Including a long list of alleged crimes.

Keller doesn't even try to hide. He is absolutely carefree. Only his prudent glances betray the escaped prisoner.

I'm leaving my observation post and wander back to my car. Tonight he's mine. I just need to wait.

He'll be coming to me.

I know how right I have thus a few seconds later. Keller pushes me in a badly lit alley, both his hands are pressed at shoulder height against the wall, I in between. "Too shy to talk to me?" He triumphs. His eyes sparkle sexy, dangerous. If you like this kind of guys.

"Perhaps something better would arise," I improvise naughty and lift my eye brows playfully.

He is not a bad catch I have to admit – with his file.

Keller is grinning wolfish. There is a flicker in his eyes. Danger. I know it. I've seen it thousands times. Chris provides a good show, hides the psychopath behind his charm but he can't fool me. It was a mistake to underestimate him and it won't happen again.

"Why don't we go? Somewhere private?" I lure. It's a dance I rarely dance. With me as bait. I'm playing with fire. I understand the attraction to draw people into a spell, to lure in a spider's web.

Keller smiles and agrees. Then he sees something, stares at me checking my eyes, just a second before he's the charming seducer again. "Where to?"

"I've got a boat."

And many filleting knife, garbage bags and bleach.

I'm a very neat monster.

A little later we actually sit in my car and drive to the Marina. We introduce each other. I'm Patrick. Chris puts his hand on my thigh and asks: "What do you dig? What do you like, Pat?" And for a moment I'm almost sure he doesn't ask for any type of sex then his hand moves higher on my leg.

For someone who has no feelings and only partly understands human interaction, I show actually timid signs of arousal.

A very human reaction that blows me out of the concept. I can kill someone, dissect, and then sit in front of the TV. But if someone hits on me to which I respond I'm screwed.

I stare back and fourth between him and his hand which has almost reached my crotch.

"Has someone never told you how sexy you are?" Chris asks.

"Not today."

He leans over to kiss me but he only meets my mouth corner as we abruptly come to a halt at the traffic lights behind three cars.

Keller laughs. My sudden irritation amuses him.

I could really kill him for that.

Not in a million years I'd throw my my knife set out of the window and dump myself on a naked, handcuffed Chris in plastic foil. The lust of the flesh outweighs the desire of blood.

No, not in this lifetime.

I park the car in the shade of a large tree in the parking lot at the Marina. The cameras capture the parking lot, boats and yachts but not my car.

Chris got off and looks at the vast sea.

"I can feel you're watching me, Patrick." He turns around.

I'm standing behind the half open back door of my car. Chris puts his hand on mine which is located up on the door frame. A voltage runs through my body.

"I didn't," I reply lame. As if Keller could read my mind.

Very softly, barely audible, he whispers: "Have you ever sucked cock before?"

My mouth opens, but before I reluctantly reply, protest, he continues. "I bet you're into it." Chris grins. And I'm glad the door is between us. I've seen enough predators to know not to show worry or nervousness. "I'll suck your cock. I'll make you feel really good and you'll fet harder than ever before," he promises with a seducitvely dark voice.

I can count the number of received blowjobs with one hand. I know he knows because I doesn't say a word. The idea what he can do with me for the first time increases his excitement many times over.

A wave of pleasure rolls over him and he leans with his hot body against the door, as if it could cool him down. Chris has only eyes for me that sparkle with desire.

"I want you," he says.

I swallow. Then, he meanders elegant past the open door and pushes me back against the car. Keller has forgotten what he has seen. Has believed to see. I'm more dangerous than he is – and for a moment I almost forget it too. His greedy lips meet mine before his tongue steals into my mouth. The power of emotions. To surrender into arousal is easier than I thought. The thrill of the hunt disappears from my body and is replaced by something that shoots deeper, right in the middle of the body. I close my eyes and let myself fall. Only for a moment.

As he leaves me – proudly on his work, his power over me – he doesn't grin, only looks intensively at me. Then, Keller turns surprisingly away from me, giving me the cold shoulder. "Which one is your boat?" He asks with a view of the Marina.

That's my chance.

My second.

I inhale almost trembling and rebuke myself. Then I take the injection from the car, come up to him and inject the needle into his throat. "Over there. Slice of life," I say into his ear. He instantly sumps down and falls half in my arms, half against the passenger door. I inhale the familiar smell and fend off a new shiver immediately.

Improvisation can never be perfection.

Annoyed about myself I help my new and unconscious friend back on its place in my car. I'm satisfied after I brought him to his shelter and prepared him. Keller has nested in a due to the economic crisis empty house.

The perfect place to enjoy undisturbed a few pleasant hours.

He opens his mouth, his lips just a little, before still stunned his eyes fly up to flutter shortly. His tongue gently sweeps across his dry lips.

"Two serial killers meet...", I say and strut around my work. "That's how the joke starts."

From the chest up to his knees he is wrapped naked in plastic wrap, tied to my table.

Tape. Plastic wrap. Garbage bags. These are the things I need.

He wants to lift his head but it's fixed with another stripe of wrap. He can lift his head just a few centimeters to see the photos of his victims behind my back. His eyes follow me.

When I stop and he is sure to have my attention, a broad grin breaks his face. "I knew you're dirty at the moment I saw you."

I lean forward and put my forearm on Keller's chest, while I'm holding the scalpel in the other hand. My black butcher apron buckles and clings to Keller's arm. "Welcome to Dahmerland, the new and daring section of Disney World."

Keller bows his head as far as possible. We look us in the eye. He sees what I see in his eyes. The hardened, the callousness and the pleasure. "I didn't know Hannibal Lector is from Walt Disney." Keller feels not the slightest fear. He thinks he can control his position, even though he obviously is in a captivating situation. He believes to know how I roll and he can talk me out of my intention.

"We are here because of you, Christopher Keller." I go back to his feet. "Look at what you did," I scream and point at the photos behind me.

A second surprise gleams in his eyes. Then, his face adorns a smug smile again. He doesn't like it. I confront him with his deeds, and he accuses the television with a grin.

"A sadistic hunter, turned on by young, well-off men," I note, want to hear his confirmation before I blow him the knife between the ribs into his heart. No remorse, no shame flashes his face, as I push him again and again on his victims. "Used and killed." I am at the head, this time from the other side. "As you were there with me. Right?"

"You would have liked it, Pat. I would have done everything, you know," Keller purrs. His small grin doubles the mischievous in his eyes. "I enjoy sex. I bet you enjoy it too. I bet you're wild. When did you have sex the last time?"

Damn, transparent plastic wrap is a mistake.

Keller engages in a hot dance with my dark passenger, but I won't bite. My scalpel cuts his cheek. I let the blood drop on a small glass plate and secure it for my collection.

"This. This is my sex. I take out the trash."

"And I thought Claire Howells was my worst nightmare." Keller laughs throaty.

"They say being stabbed is a good way to die assuming that dying is a good thing."

I stand behind him and start the projector, which throws a video file on the opposite wall. The recording of a newscast flickers over the photos of his victims.

After a brief introduction Harrison Beecher appears for an interview and deplores the conditions in prison, which resulted in the death of his son. The sound is bad, but you understand every word. The murder is still not cleared up although the prisoners are guarded 24/7, Beecher's father continues. They show a photo of Tobias Beecher. A blonde man, a smile for the camera, summer polo shirt. One of a good family, like the others. Like Keller's victims.

A notch more in Keller's bed post.

"You were cellmates. You and Tobias Beecher. He was your type. You gave him nicknames?" I suspect into the blue. "Tobi? Honey? Babe, baby?" I stand by his side and show him a photo of Tobias. "They served you your dream man on a silver platter in Oz."

"He's dead," Keller echos breathy. He looks at the flickering images that repeat itself in endless loop.

"And because of him – and because of the others – you die tonight."

"I didn't kill Toby," Keller argues vehemently. His head turns to me, lifts him as he speaks to me. "I didn't kill him. I have tried to save his goddamn life. Und yes, I killed the others. Do you hear that? I wanted to kill the part of me that craved for sex with them. I hated this part of me. Catholic school." It's a plain laughing. "But Beecher – Toby, I liked who I was when I was with him. Someone I have never been before."

He snorts, then he yells at me angry: "Are you happy now? I got me open, confessing, puking my guts out on the table! A real breakthrough!"

Keller is a sociopath, a psychopath.

"Toby, mmm?"

"I wish I was in his place in the morgue. I can not..." Chris raises his arms, his head. His hands are clenched into fists, but he can no longer move, as that which I have granted him. "Come on, send me to hell!" He shouts.

And I do it.


End file.
